Dynamics
by Pseudonymous Seuss
Summary: The party was a high society one, of course, and everyone who was anyone in the gentry was there. Lords and Ladies and Pop Stars all gathered in the exquisitely appointed rooms, sipping their drinks and making conversation in glittering dresses and perfectly fitted suits. Ugh, it was so boring.


The party was a high society one, of course, and everyone who was anyone in the gentry was there. Lords and Ladies and Pop Stars all gathered in the exquisitely appointed rooms, sipping their drinks and making conversation in glittering dresses and perfectly fitted suits. Ugh, it was so _boring_. Irene had been cajoled into going by an old friend, and she walked across the floor towards the refreshment table, heels clicking against the parquet. She sighed, leaning up against the wall, resplendent in her cream colored dress with the scarlet embroidery, hair tucked up into an elegant updo. Several of her clients made eye contact with her, and she nodded back, a secret smile on her ruby lips. Boring. Boring. BORING.

Jim leaned against a column near the banquet table. It was a good spot, everyone eats. Or drinks. Or pretends to eat. Or pockets silverware. You could spot each and every one of the distinguished and not so distinguished guests from his spot. Dull. To the left: Businessman, has a hand in a few bad stocks, nothing worth compromising over, no. Further past him: A starlet known for her cocaine addiction, which, as far as he cold tell was fake for the press, a hint of interesting skill, but still, no. Next: Young waiter, definitely a thief on the side, quite good according to the jewelry bulking his pockets and sleeves, a possibility. Beyond him: And there Jim paused. A woman of excellent posture, impeccable taste in clothing, and obviously beyond bored... A challenging character... Definitely a yes.

She spotted Jim at the same time he found her, but she was careful to avoid his gaze, not to let on that she was looking too. She leaned against a column near him, pretending to check her lipstick with her vintage silver compact, all while dissecting the stranger. Criminal element, yes. White collar crime, not afraid to get his hands dirty, but would rather send someone else if it came down to it. New in town, surely, but smart. She could almost feel the intelligence radiating off of him in waves, ready to knock over anyone who was clever enough to pay attention. Which, in this crowd, was no one. He was in need of friends. She could provide. She walked over to him, adding an extra swing to her hips, and leaned in, lips almost touching his ear.

"Hello darling," she whispered.

Jim smiled. He had a cat-like smile, between that of someone who's just won at chess and someone who's generally interested in a good petting. _Both_, he thought. He raised himself slightly, straightening out his suit jacket before reaching for the woman's hand and bending to touch his lips there. He lifted his head and grinned again, this time at her.

"Hello."

"You have good taste in clothes," she said, her voice practically a purr as she reached out and picked up a small bit of thread from the shoulder of his jacket. She flicked it away with a deft gesture, and leaned on the column next to him, like they were old friends sharing a story. "Not many Westwoods in such a stuffy place as this. But your tailor...eh, could be better. I can give you the number of a genius one, if you'd like."

"An insult to my grandfather this early in the evening, aren't WE catty?" Jim raised an eyebrow at her, impressed with her quick recognition of the suit, also impressed that, despite the very small change to his weight since he'd come to London, she'd noticed it was no longer perfectly tailored to him. _More than a yes_.

"Your grandfather does fine work. But perhaps you should keep it a bit more up to date, yes? And eat more protein. You'll hardly get where you want to go if you're wasting away." She smirked at him, eyes dancing in the dim light of the room. "Go on. I know you want to dissect me. Tell me what _you_ see."

Challenging indeed.

"You're awfully bored for such a grandiose party, and I know the reason, love. Though I do hope not to offend you I'd say you've bedded about 35% of the people here. Mostly women, though, you don't let gender be a barrier for you. That chap over there is rather hoping to see you again, despite the fact that he seems to have taken quite the beating from you recently, look at that lovely little eye twitch when he looks your way. Charming. You're bored because you've seen a third of them naked and pleading and the rest are hardly worth your time. You'll excuse me for being so candid. My grandfather always taught me to be an honest man." He dipped his head slightly, a silent bow.

"Well, your grandfather taught you very well, then." She picked up a glass of champagne from the table, sipping it delicately, careful not to leave lipstick smudges on the glass. "Too bad that chap won't be seeing me again. He was dreadfully dull in his tastes. Not really worth my time. His sister is much more fun." She tipped her head to Jim, an acknowledgment of his skills, and an invitation. "I'm going off to the balcony to have a fag. Come with?"

Jim liked her immensely. A very uncommon thing for a man like him, but, nonetheless he found himself nodding to her. "Certainly."

She breezed across the dance floor and onto the balcony, perfectly at ease despite the height of her heels and the slipperiness of the floor. She reached down and pulled up the hem of her dress slightly, producing a silver cigarette case that had been attached to her stockings, and pulled one out, offering the case to Jim.

A show, this woman was an actress, her life the theater. Watching her walk felt odd, as if he were not really sure she was touching the floor, like she hovered just above it. He accepted the cigarette, pulling a lighter from his pocket. "Light?"

She leaned in to accept the light, looking for all the world like a femme fatale from an old noir movie, especially in the soft light coming from the large doors that led back to the party. Casablanca, maybe. No. Maltese Falcon seemed more her style. She took a long drag on the cigarette, sending a thin stream of smoke up into the night, and watched Jim from the corner of her eye. She wouldn't be the one to break the silence.

He recognized the look. He'd seen it before on the faces of The Interestings, a class he surely belonged to in Dublin, but here, he was still just a well-dressed tourist with an empire to build. Any other time he would have waited, letting the silence surround his prospective accomplice - he loved that word with all his brain (for who in the world still really thinks that you love with your heart) - until they choked out something, anything. This was not the time, she was not someone to trick or scare into ones grasp, she was the one to dance with until the music stopped.

"You're very interesting." He lit his own cigarette as punctuation.

She smiled, leaning back against the railing, elbows tucked in neatly at her sides.

"Why thank you, darling. You are as well." No humble demuring, and no brags. He isn't the kind of person to use those on, not at all. Straightforward and playful, that would be the key to trapping this one in her web, to getting a leg up when it was his time to shine. "So are you. Very unorthodox, for our usual brand of criminal." She took another drag on her cigarette. "You'll do well."

"I do try and surprise, though I wouldn't say 'usual' is my game. Especially," He aused, letting the smoke drift from his mouth, admiring the aesthetic, "If you intend to play."

"I'm already playing." She turned again, looking out at the grounds, with dark shadowy gardens and perfectly placed lights. "I wouldn't be talking to you if I wasn't."

"Well, what do you fancy, then? Game-wise. What's your style?" He leaned against the balcony, watching her fingers on the cigarette.

She grinned, slow and warm like molasses. Ashing her cigarette out over the trees below, she lifted it to her lips and took another drag. "I think you've figured that out already, but I'll voice it anyway. Since you want to hear it. I like subtle. And sensual. I like to have the real game obscured by a theatrical one. I think you're the same."

"And I think you are an excellent judge of character. So, tell me, since I know you can tell who I am, who I'll be... Why," He flicked his cigarette over the balcony, watching it drop down into the manicured lawn, "Why are you keen? Doesn't seem as if you've had anyone like me before, I know you haven't because I've never met you, what's changed your mind?" He placed his pointer finger at her shoulder, an indication.

She turned her head, eyes on his finger for a moment, before fixing on his face, right at his eyes.

"You have remarkably dark eyes, you know. Like wells. A girl could get lost down them." She sent her cigarette out to join his, and wrapped her slim fingers around his wrist. "Just that. Because you're new, and exciting, and I've never had anyone like you before. And we can help each other. I'll introduce you to my friends, and they'll become your friends. And when the time is right and you've ascended to your throne, I can call in the favour. Simple."

"Ah," He fanned his fingers, the muscles in his wrist twisting under her hand. "THE favour. I expected as much." He looked from his wrist to her lips to her eyes. Then, suddenly he was inches from her face their lips not quite touching, her eyes slightly blurred in his vision. "I'll have you know that your favour comes with a price. You play the game, you play it well. However, lest you forget this at any point or fail to understand the gravity, I'll only be telling you this once: I play to win. I do win. And WHEN I win, if you've tried to keep me from it I will. Have. Your. Head. Your beautiful head. I may give of an air of charity, but I assure you it is not my style, nor my taste." He pulled back, examining her face.

When they parted, her face was completely normal. Serene, even. Except for...yes. There it was. A tiny bit of pink on her cheeks, a slight widening of her pupils, the red on her lips not just from lipstick anymore. Not fear, not trepidation or regret or anything that most normal people would feel after getting that speech. Excitement. Pure excitement.

"I thought that none of that would need to be said. But there. Said it is. I completely understand." She let go of his wrist, and held out her hand to him, a small smile at the corners of her lips. "Irene Adler."

Jim broke out into a wide smile and met her hand with his. "James Moriarty, Jim. A pleasure to meet you Ms. Adler."

"The pleasure, Jim, is all mine." She grasped his hand for a moment, then let it go. "I think, perhaps, we should leave this party. Nothing more exciting could possibly happen."

"Things do tend to dim when someone flashes a light in your eyes." He crooked his arm for her, ready to escort his success through the ballroom of strangers.

She hooked her arm through his, elegant and graceful as ever- years of ballet classes paying off- and walked towards the door, nodding to the clients who caught her eye, carefully avoiding those who were more discreet.

Jim caught the eye of a few people, the signal had been given, it seemed. He smiled inwardly but carefully kept his composure. Wouldn't want to ruin it, despite the obvious leap forward he'd made within the last half-hour. Doors were opened for them and they stepped back out into the cool night air.

"Where would you like to go, my dear?" A dark car pulled to their side.

"Take me to your favorite place," she replied, slipping into the car with practiced ease, despite the absurd heels she was wearing, and the tight skirt. "I find that says a lot about a person."

Fifteen minutes later, and a quick fire escape climb found them at the top of Jim's apartments. He owned the entire building but let some woman, Mrs. Turner, put her name on the papers. Didn't want his name all about this early in his London career.

"I don't know much of the city, so you'll forgive me for my lack of creativity, but I've always had a penchant for rooftops. I'm a bit of a romantic."

"You are new here," she said, a slight laugh in her voice, but she peered out over the edge of the roof, seeing the city spread out below them, all its winding ways and strange buildings spreading out from them like they were the very center of the map. "I always have as well. But do be careful. They say you meet your end with the thing you love." She stepped back from the edge, just a bit, hair whipping in the wind.

"Do they?" He felt the tug of something at his chest. The closer he was to the edge, the stronger it became. Curiosity. It'd take him less than fifteen seconds to hit the ground... But... There were still those seconds in between. "I suppose they're right, whoever they are." He turned away from the edge, a silent but firm 'no' to the empty air.

"You have a lot to do before you let yourself fall, Mr. Moriarty," she said, lighting another cigarette. "After all. If you're not running this town within five years, then I'll have to check myself into a hospital and find out when I lost IQ points."

"I don't think they deal with that any more, and no matter how many IQ points you lose you'd still be well above The Normals on instinct alone." He pulled his own pack from a pocket, fishing about for one of the last two. He lit up and took a deep drag. "Besides, I give myself one year. And I don't have time for the fall, Ms. Adler. Not yet."

"None of us do, but it creeps up when we least expect it." She walked closer, standing next to him, her arm pressing up against his, both a ward against the cold and a desire to touch such an extraordinary man. "Tell me, what kind of friends do you need most?"

"Ah, but I always expect it, so we'll meet up for tea first." He gestured to the lights of the city. "And friends. Cunning. I'd ask for more like you, my dear, but I'm sure you're one of a kind." He placed his unoccupied hand at the small of her back and leaned his lips close to her ear. "Just as I prefer."

She turned her head suddenly, catching his bottom lip between her teeth, the smoke on their breath mingling in the cool night air. She grinned, and pulled away, flicking her cigarette to the ground, and turned more fully towards him. "I can send you cunning ones."

The suddenness of her move have surprised him. His hand moved to touch his lip but he stayed it, not the move he planned to make. He bent his head ever-so-slightly and spoke to her, letting his lips barely graze her skin. "And I will do the rest, my dear."

"Do include me in your plans." She tilted her head up again, letting her lips brush against his, her body pressing close to his in the darkness. "I would hate to miss out on all the fun."

Of course," He flicked his cigarette away, joining his hands behind her. "Absolutely can't have YOU missing any fun. Wouldn't be right." His tone was low, intimate.

She traced the outline of his lips with her finger, looking up into his eyes. "As much as this is a romantic spot, it is getting a little chilly, don't you think?"

He smirked at her before snapping his hands away and clasping them behind his own back.

"Quite right, Ms. Adler, let's get you a nice warm cab ride home. Save the romanticizing for another evening, perhaps."

"Wonderful. I would _so_ love to stay around and do it now but, Mr. Moriarty, I find the anticipation makes things sweeter."

"I tend to agree with you." He said with a smile. He led her down the fire escape slowly before raising a hand to the man who'd been driving their car earlier. A rather interesting older gentleman who he planned on using at some point, for now a ride home for the enchanting Irene Adler would do. He held her hand as she stepped delicately, gracefully into the back seat.

"I think you could use the driver," she said, whispering, not looking directly at him. "Seems to have a weakness for his children. Very exploitable." She twirled a hand in his tie, using it to pull him down for one last kiss. "And I'll get you the name of that tailor."

"Much obliged, dear." He smirked, she was quick. He stood at the corner, watching as the car bumped along the road. He smiled to himself, the night had gone well. He flipped through the categories in his head for his previous and current accomplices. There was that lovely word again, so old-fashioned, vaudevillian, fairy-tale. He looked, but try as he might there was no solid category for Irene Adler. He shrugged his shoulders and began walking inside. _I'll figure it out later_...


End file.
